Fairytale
by drizzlydaze
Summary: AU in a fairytale universe. It was a kingdom run by a dying king. Luckily, he had a son. They always do. Barney/Robin, Ted/Victoria, Marshall/Lily
1. Once Upon A Time

_Once upon a time. There's a story to be told._

It was a kingdom run by a dying king. Luckily, he had a son. They always do.

The queen had long since abandoned the kingdom, her queenship revoked, but it had ended on completely mutual terms. She had left the king for the rumoured Wild West, where she lived out her days with the man she loved, Clint. The king had never managed to find another lady to wed, but he had a son and a daughter.

His daughter was wild and flitted across the kingdom with many young suitors for her beauty was undeniable. She had not yet found anyone she truly wished to be with, nor did the king think her fit to rule the kingdom.

His son, on the other hand, was more practical and down-to-earth. He had the mettle to rule a kingdom and a fair mind. However, he was starry-eyed at his age, and on a search for true love. The king knew his son would not be ready till he found a wife.

So the king made it his final task to find a love for Ted. He hired a sort of tutor for his son, to teach him the ways of wooing and courting. He taught his son many more things of the world in the meantime, to prepare him for rule. Finally, once the prince had learned enough, the king threw a ball. An invitation was issued to every household, and women from all corners of the kingdom flocked to the dance. This was a sure-fire way to find a woman for Ted, the king was sure. He made sure the tutor accompanied his son to the ball, as the king was bedridden and would not be able to formally attend.

Cut to the two young men sitting at the high table. One has dark, carefully tousled hair, and looks slightly awkward in his suit. He has a pleasant-looking face with potential puppy dog eyes, coupled with a charming smile. The other is taller, with a natural suaveness the former seems to lack in comparison. He has short, blonde hair, and it is with a roguish grin that he finally speaks.

"Alright, Ted, it's time to put those skills into use. I didn't train you all these months for nothing, you know."

Ted nods and bites his lip. "Okay, I can do this."

"That's right," the blonde encourages. "You can do this. Practise run! Go up to that nine and give her the look!"

"The look?"

The tall man sighs and snaps his fingers impatiently in front of Ted's nervous face. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. We agreed that you could never match my debonair approach, given, well, the difference between you and me, so I came up with a whole new one tailored specially for you. Head down, eyes looking up, hands tucked in pockets. Got it?" He pauses to give Ted time to respond. "Okay, go get her!" He pats the prince on the back, nudging him forward.

He stumbles in front of the pretty redhead. "H-hey. I'm Ted."

Fluttering her eyelashes at him, the beauty shifts her body to face him directly. "Of course you are, dear _prince_." She lets out a coquettish laugh.

"Ha ha. Yeah. Well, I, er, gotta go."

Ted ducks out and heads back to the tutor. "You've got some bad taste, Barney."

"Bad taste? Bad taste? Ted, the girl was a nine. _And_ she was a bimbo. What more could you ask for?"

"Barney, this ball wasn't arranged for me to get laid!"

"…Really?"

"Okay, it was, sort of. But it was so I could meet just _one_ woman, not a parade of one-night stands. Someone I could fall in love with."

There's something about Barney's face that changes then, a look Ted has never seen before. His tutor had always been something of a, let's face it, gigolo. Though money never changes hands and he's the one who courts, he beds as many women as the average… well, Barney. Perhaps a better term would be man-whore, Ted corrects himself internally. But the point remains—Barney doesn't believe in love. The only relations he believes in are: A) Family, B) Friendship, C) Employer-Employee, and D) Physical. All Ted's romantic musings are met with derision and scorn. Sometimes, though, Ted thinks he can glimpse past that mask. And now? For that fleeting moment, there is something else in Barney's face, some hint of what he may have once been.

Then it's gone.

"Fine, be lame and monogamous. Believe in your little fantasies of cheesy romance. But inside your mind, Ted, there'll always be—"

"—A little Barney? Not this time, bro. I'm straight as an arrow, and that arrow is Cupid's."

His tutor groans. "Yeah, whatever. I'll try find your so-called perfect woman. Your dad did hire me to help you, after all. To give you what you think you want. But Ted, heed my words. It is not what you _truly_ want. Because inside your mind, Ted, _inside your mind_, there'll always be a little Barney—"

"We've been through this, Stinson, move on. Now, I'm thinking about that girl over there?"

Barney doesn't even bother looking. "No, _I'm_ finding the girl. If I have to do this your way, I'll have to do it your father's way too. It must be someone with the aptitude to be a queen and I'm vetting the choices here. God knows what _you'll_ come up with."

He scans the room with practised ease, as though he's some sort of predator stalking his prey. Ted tries to follow his gaze, how Barney stops for a second at a seemingly innocuous spot, how his eyes sometimes dart downward, how he occasionally tilts his head with some unknown thought, but the prince can make no rhyme nor reason of his apparently random movements. What exactly is he searching for?

So he asks. "What exactly are you searching for?"

"Please. I'm an expert at this; don't worry your pretty little head about it. But since you ask so nicely," Barney continues just as Ted is about to drop it. "I'm searching for A) A hot girl who's around your age, B) Not a bimbo (unfortunately), C) Available, which admittedly is a large number of them, and D) Fits the Katy Oslo parameter."

"Katy Oslo?"

"The Royal Guard over at the next kingdom." Barney is about to explain further, perhaps to list out the traits she possesses, when he suddenly stops like a hunting dog catching a promising trail. "Okay, Ted, two-man approach this time. Brunette at three o'clock, right over at the boiled rabbit."

Ted turns. Perhaps it's the bent of his romantic mind, but the crowd of ball gowns seem to move aside, just slightly, to make a clear path to the beautiful girl that he _knows_ is the One. She doesn't turn and meet his eyes, and he moves, almost dreamlike, to the woman. She has a coil of shiny brown hair draped artistically over her left shoulder, with a midnight blue gown with silver accessories to match. Her eyes are accentuated with darkness, her cheeks lifted with a slight blush, but Ted can see the natural beauty beneath the layers of adornment.

Barney gets to her first. "Hi, haaaaaave you met Ted?" he says, tapping her on the shoulder.

She turns, eyebrows arching slightly at the unexpected intrusion, sees Barney, then Ted. "Of course. You're the prince, aren't you?"

"That's right," Ted manages. "What's your name?"

"Robin," she says. "Robin Scherbatsky."

They hit it off. Robin isn't the princess he imagined, but she's _perfect_. She's great, she's funny, and her favourite thing about the kingdom of Yorken are the palace dogs. (Robin had come from the island of Danca, which wasn't and still isn't a kingdom.)

Until: "Look, Ted, I really like you, but… I know you're here looking for a queen. I'm not. I'm just here to have some fun, and bring back stories about how I met the wonderful prince of Yorken back to my family. And I don't have plans to get married or have kids. I don't _want_ to get married or have kids. Maybe now I wish I did, because you're really great, but I don't."

Ted wants to pursue this, he does. He thinks he can change her (Barney would tease him mercilessly for this bit of feminine thinking). But he doesn't have the time. His dad's dying, and his dad wants to see Ted get married and have an heir. He wants Ted have an easy relationship, a woman who's almost guaranteed to be queen.

And Ted will accept that, and turn away from Robin. Because right from the point she rejects him, he knows it'll never work and it's safer to turn away now.

So he does.

She goes back to Danca.

He doesn't find his queen that day.

_So the prince kissed the princess. She awoke, and they lived happily ever after._

_(Or not.)_

Over in the twin kingdom, Newen, the King and soon-to-be Queen are having a wedding. They naturally invite their brother kingdom, Yorken. So Ted suits up and heads over to the ball. His father bids Barney to go as his tutor, in the hopes that perhaps he can find someone there.

They are escorted through the forest by five convoys and eighteen envoys. Ted has never thought of Barney as particularly cowardly—especially since he's made his daring known by accepting the most ludicrous of challenges—but every little movement and shadow in the woods makes him jump. Ted laughs. "You're scared?"

Barney gives the usual scoff. "Hardly." But then there's a sudden screech in the air, probably from some eagle seizing its prey, and Barney gives a strangled choke of his own and jumps a little.

They arrive at Newen without much hassle, and it's just as the sun dips below the horizon that they are formally admitted into the banquet hall for the wedding. Ted looks around the room for Marshall and Lily, but they aren't there. (Barney reminds him that they aren't supposed to see each other till the ceremony.) He fingers the gifts in his arms; Ted doesn't want to just toss them into the pile. After all, he's not just a guest. He's a childhood friend. Plus, he's royal.

Barney tails vaguely behind Ted as he wanders round the corridors, searching for the groom. "Marriage!" Barney mutters with disgust. "What sad, sad man came up with such a depressing concept?" He continues in this vein till Ted finally finds Marshall in a sort of waiting room for the groom.

Ted sometimes wonders why Barney's so cynical about love.

Marshall sees him and jumps about excitedly. They have the typical reunion of old friends; Marshall's dad has just died, so he's been busy running the kingdom. And after the initial shock of his sudden departure, Marshall decided to make the most of his own life and wed Lily. Barney stands by the side, feeling a little odd as he watches them catch up on old times. Normally, he would hit the bar and the chicks, but the old king made him promise to stick around with Ted. (Of course, this could've just been to make sure Barney didn't tarnish relations between Newen and Yorken, but…)

Then a full ten minutes of reminiscence, Ted suddenly remembers Barney. "Oh, Marshall, this is Barney. He's my tutor."

"Tutor?" Marshall looks slightly incredulous as he shakes Barney's hand. "What for?"

"Er." Ted wonders how he should put this. Love guru? Relationship adviser? Neither quite seems to fit, since Barney isn't exactly someone you ask about love or long-term relationships. "My dad hired him."

"So what did the king hired you for, exactly?" Marshall asks him.

Barney just shakes his head with a little laugh. "Heh. Please."

Then Marshall talks to Ted a little more, and urges them to go out and dance. The masquerade is starting.

"Masquerade? Oh man, I didn't know…" Ted bemoans his lack of a mask, but Marshall lends him an intricate one with black and gold patterns. Barney isn't so lucky though; Marshall has no others, so Barney just shrugs and heads out mask-less.

The room is filled with light and music. But most of all, its filled with colour. Men donning a bright array of flamboyant costumes for the ball, women in their interesting fashions, and everyone, save Barney, with an intriguing mask hiding their features from the world. He feels a little odd, as though he's standing in a room full of faceless mannequins, dancing like clockwork, but the usual confidence soon buoys his spirits. Ted gapes at the array of colours, and Barney wonders if he's never been to a costumed party before. Barney has, and it's particularly fun, especially since Jacques-the-huntsman can turn into Jack-the-pirate and avoid certain murderous dames.

"Well, Ted, have fun. This dance is perfect for you—every three circles, you'll switch partners. But if you like the chick you're with, I suggest you two slip into the left wing. Just make sure she's hot!" Barney advises.

Ted grins and makes sure his mask is firmly in place (it has so much gold leaf on it Ted is afraid it'll slip off at any moment). "Thanks, Barney," he replies sincerely. This feels good. It feels like it's going to be a good night.

It feels like it's going to be the right night.

It feels like it's going to be _the_ night.

The blonde returns a grin of his own, and lounges by the pillar. He isn't allowed to dance without a mask, so all he can do is watch the people go on without him.

It's what he's always done, isn't it?

_There's a visitor. _

_There's always someone new, at the eleventh hour. _

_That's when everything begins._

The music begins, a light waltz that makes Barney tap his feet. It's a familiar piece, one he recalls playing on his violin. Playing his violin—it's one of the many secrets Barney keeps. His background and childhood are mysteries to Ted, who had briefly touched upon the subject. But when Barney was less than forthcoming, he hadn't brought it up again.

Barney casts his eye round the room as Ted moves into the heart of the crowd and out of sight. The bar is closed, because of the absurd notion that everyone's too busy dancing to drink, and the bartender decided to join in with the fun. Maybe he should go back to Marshall and enjoy the awkward silence of two people who've been introduced by a mutual friend. But Barney doesn't move, instead leaning his head back against the wall, until—

From the corner of his eye, he spots the door open and close, and a tall figure rush into the room. Of course. There are always latecomers. Interested, Barney snaps his head in the mystery person's direction, only to realize that it isn't a chick. No, it's a young man with cropped brown-hair and delicate features, clad in a white, classy suit. He hasn't brought a mask either, and is reduced to watching the dance, just like Barney.

There's something off about the man. Barney squints to try pinpoint the inconsistency, but he can't quite get it. He must be too far away, he decides, and moves toward the stranger. As he does so, the mystery man starts to look more and more familiar—but why?

_I've seen him before, and recently too. The Barnacle does _not_ forget. _The problem is that Barney sees many people each day: diplomats, clients, guards, stable boys, _everyone_. "Hey," he greets the latecomer.

The young man turns to return the greeting, when suddenly it hits him—Barney _knows_ this not-a-stranger. _Interesting…_ A smirk spreads across his face. "A-ah!" The stranger lets out a strangled shriek.

"Why, I never expected to meet _you_ here. And wearing that snazzy suit too." Barney's grin grows very wide.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know who you are—so (_please_) just shut up." It's spoken in an urgent half-whisper, despite the fact that the other guests are already preoccupied with the music. Stormy eyes hidden under a fringe of brown gleam desperately at Barney.

He tilts his head. "Tell me."

The stranger blinks furiously in indecision. "It's a matter of national security."

"If you don't, either I'll spill or I'll figure it out anyway." He extends his arms dramatically. "I'm Barney Stinson. I've got ways."

"If you do, it'll be bad for _you_ too, never mind the entire kingdom."

Barney lets out a derisive laugh. "Danca isn't a kingdom," he says, which is met with a glare. "…But do tell."

They look at each other. "I don't have a choice, do I? I was careless, and this is what I get for that. But you can't tell this to anyone."

Barney nods.

"Okay. Good. Great. Fine. Alright. …I'll tell."

But then there's another moment of hesitance and Barney grows a little impatient at the suspense.

_Then there's the damsel in distress, rescued by the knight in the charger._

_Only this time, _she's_ the knight._

"C'mon," he whines, then a dangerous glint enters his eyes. "Out with it… _Scherbatsky_."


	2. Clocks and Endings

Meanwhile, Ted's danced with two girls and has just taken the hand of the third. They say three's the charm, and though he hasn't really been one for superstition, he's been one for destiny. "Hi, I'm—" he begins, but is cut off.

The girl is young, blonde, and attractive. She's wearing a butterfly mask with gold flowers embossed on it, and a bright yellow dress that hides her shoes. "—Don't. This is a masquerade—enjoy the mystery, the allure. You won't get it anywhere else."

That makes sense, he concedes. "Then how will we find each other again?" he asks. Once the dance is over, she'll just be a pretty girl in a yellow dress, just like the dozens of other yellow-clad dames.

Her eyes sparkle. "We won't—that's the beauty of it. We won't be ruined by looks, by second meetings, by _anything_. It'll just be this one perfect dance."

Ted isn't sure how he feels about that. But he doesn't even know if he likes this girl yet, though right now, she seems pretty cool; the idea she came up with was really quite intriguing. This could just be another wasted dance.

Or a perfect memory.

"Alright, I'm onboard. Let's do this. But no names?"

"No names," she agrees. "Naturally. You can call me… Buttercup."

Fitting. She's seems to be draped in sunshine, and he's pretty sure the flowers on her mask are the said buttercups. "And I'll be Crow." It's a clear reference to his mask; jet black with streaks of gold resembling down, with a few well-placed feathers reaching out from its corners.

"So what brings you to the ball?" Buttercup asks.

"I'm a friend of the groom. You?"

"That, sir, is a secret. Too much information, you see. You'd figure out who I am."

"Not the bride, I trust," Ted jokes.

Buttercup laughs as she executes a practised twirl. "No, nothing of the sort. I'm hoping to catch the bouquet, though."

"Well, you'll have to wrestle it from me."

She lets out another laugh. Ted doesn't think it sounds like the babbling of a brook, or the tinkle of wind chimes, though his romantic side urges him to do so—but no, it just sounds so _sincere_, so _open_, and so… real.

"You're quite the jester, aren't you? I heard this kingdom needs a new fool."

Now it's Ted's turn to laugh, because he's a prince. And then he's worried because the remark is so specific that he's sure Buttercup's figured out he's some kind of royalty.

"But," she continues. "I suppose even all of Newen doesn't possess enough gold to purchase a new hat every time you perform—after all, the wax in your hair would ruin the seams. Although it might actually reinforce the tailoring…" she muses.

"You affront my hair?" Ted replies, enjoying the easy banter. "Ah, Buttercup, you are too young to die, so do not try."

"Oh, but Crow! Your hair is as coated as a good frosting on cake. But I also have to commend you; your hair, after all, defies reality itself with its improbable styling. Congratulations, you might just win a prize for it." She pauses to let him dip her down. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Not what I wanted; what you _ought_ to have said, as any reasonable lady with taste would have said."

This continues for a few minutes, until, finally, their third circle is almost over. Ted really, _really_ likes this girl. "What's your name?" The question slips through his lips.

Buttercup's eyes look almost regretful as she shakes her head. "Sorry, Crow. But it's a perfect dance, remember? The one we'll recall for generations yet."

And then it ends.

_But out of all the characters, the prince always comes first._

_The end always comes last. That's what an end is, after all. _

_A bad finish for the witch, the villain._

_And the 'happily ever after'? That's a bit more tricky. _

_Then again, they're all just endings._

Robin. It's Robin. Robin Scherbatsky, the woman he and Ted met in that first ball, the one from _Danca_.

And she's a dude.

Okay, Barney just _has_ to use that line, but it's not exactly true. She's not a dude. She's a chick pretending to be a dude. And here's her explanation why:

There was once a man who was all fire and passion, and his name was Robin Charles Scherbatsky. He was the king of the land. A stern but fair ruler who wanted nothing better for the not-kingdom.

(It was a little complicated. Danca was a nation, and a king ruled it, but it _was not_ a kingdom. It had a palace, its servants, and its people, but it _was not_ a kingdom. The reason was that when the Doctrine of Fifty was signed, Danca wasn't there. It was preoccupied with the invention of a lame new hunting game called hockey gun, some—namely, Barney—said. It was staving off invasion from the sea pirates, others whispered. There was no end to the number of rumours, but Danca never confirmed nor denied any of them. In any case, they were not there to sign the Doctrine, and are therefore not considered a kingdom.)

Then the queen conceived Robin Charles Scherbatsky Jr.

Eleven years later, Katie Scherbatsky was born.

Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. deemed it a disgrace, to have been father to two _girls_ after years of trying. He grew angry and unreasonable, imposing harsher rules than ever and eventually driving the queen and their newborn child away with his ever-changing moods.

And Robin Jr.? She stayed with the king and raised a boy. Anyone outside of the castle knew not of her true gender; she appeared a male to the nation, and would-be heir. Her father taught her to hunt, to skin a rabbit, everything he'd planned to do with a son. Robin complied with his every whim—that is, until she turned a teenager. Rebelliousness suddenly breathed into her soul, independence she so craved but dare not act. But one misty August night, she marshalled up her courage and escaped. Thoughts of turmoil in Danca with her disappearance were carefully thrust aside as she ran stealthily through the forest, eventually ended up at her mother's home, at the edge of the island, where she stayed for seven years and learned to be a girl. She made sure to keep well away from the not-kingdom itself, and all the citizens knew were that there was a renegade prince that had run from Danca.

On the last day of her seven years living with her mother and sister, she had decided to go to the ball at Yorken. That was when she met Ted.

When she returned to Danca, her father came to collect her. She was terrified of the rage that never came, only a cold word and an order that could not be disobeyed. He was getting old, Robin knew; perhaps that was why Robin Charles Sr. had decided that now was the time to collect her. He cut her hair once more, trained her to be a boy, and for her final test, she was sent to the wedding in Newen as a representative from Danca.

Barney gapes at Robin after she finishes her explanation. She glares at his nonplussed expression. "Wha—"

"—Not a word," Robin hisses, cutting across him as the music comes to an end. "I was _careful_ at that ball in Yorken. The only thing I talked to was my scotch. Then you and Ted came along, thanks for that. So this _cannot_ be leaked out. And warn Ted before he sees me as the prince of Danca."

The clock strikes ten, the beat dies, and the dancers step apart to unmask.

Barney sees Ted eagerly whirling round, perhaps to spot one of his dance partners, only to look disappointed. Eventually though, his brown eyes land on Barney together with Robin. He's still too far away to see anything amiss, so the blonde decides to prep Ted beforehand.

"I guess I'll see you later, _prince_," Barney says, making it clear that he isn't going to let this golden opportunity pass him by. Robin nods curtly.

_The clock will strike twelve. _

Ted scours the room keenly, just as soon as everyone pockets their masks, in the hopes of finding Buttercup. It's no good; at least half the women here are blonde, and at least a third of them wear similar yellow dresses. Curse Newen and its undiversified fashions! (Not that Ted would know. He doesn't listen as the messenger reads out _Fashion Today_. Really.) The only other clue is her shoes, cute little brown ones with snowflakes. He had scrutinized any for anything that would set her apart from the other girls, and when she'd lifted the hem of her dress for a tricky step in the dance, he'd seen the shoes. Unfortunately, the dresses of almost every blonde cover their shoes; Ted has no way of peeking at any potential sandals.

As he sighs, searching the room once more, his eyes snag on Barney, who's still at the edge of the room. Only now, he's with some other guy who must've come late and forgotten to bring his mask. Seeing Ted's gaze, Barney bids goodbye to the stranger and heads toward him.

"Heeeey Ted, you won't believe who I just talked to!" Barney says, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can you guess? Can you guess?"

Barney rarely lets Ted forget how much of a child he can be. "Who?"

"Guess," Barney orders.

Ted rolls his eyes. "Fine. Punchy?"

"No."

"Stuart?"

"No. Hah, you'll never get it."

"Carl?"

"No." Barney lets out a chuckle.

"The Captain?"

"No. Last chance, Mosby."

Ted decides to throw out a completely random, ridiculous guess, just to show Barney he's not taking this guessing game seriously. (Which would mean when Ted guesses wrong, it's because he wasn't trying to win.) "Robin?"

Barney is silent for a moment, grin wiped clean off his face. "You… you cheater!" he finally splutters, indignant at having been beaten.

"Wait, really? It's Robin? That can't be… I mean, you're talking about that brown-haired guy you were with just now, right? Note the word 'guy'."

Barney explains Robin's situation to Ted, and by the end of it, almost all thoughts of Buttercup are extinguished with this startling revelation.

"_What_?" That's Ted's response for the next five minutes.

Barney enjoys his reaction. "What. Up!" He raises his palm for a high-five.

He receives the requisite slap, but it's Robin who gives it, not Ted, and it's at the sharp sound that Ted finally stops blabbering.

"Shut up, Ted," Robin asserts, fingering the inside of her tailored suit in a way that hints a lethal weapon or two could be easily procured, should Ted incur her wrath. "Not a word."

He just stares at her for a long moment, before muttering, "…Politics…" in that derisive tone that Barney often uses when referring to Danca.

As Ted stands there, dumbfounded, Barney turns and grins at Robin. "Only in Danca, I swear," he says. "Hiding hot chicks as boys. An irreparable offense. Of course, chicks in suits… that's not _that_ a bad idea." He checks her out appreciatively (and unabashedly, since he's Barney), but then frowns. "Well, if you didn't have to do that chest-binding thing."

To his delight, she doesn't blush at his pointed ogle as he tries to discern the slightest hint of boob from under the tight bandage.

Robin hangs around with Ted and Barney for the most part, right up until Marshall sends someone from the dressing room to call Ted. "So, how's the speech going?"

Ted is nonplussed. "Speech?"

"You know, your best man's speech."

"_Best man's speech?_"

Turns out Marshall had been so wrapped up with running the kingdom, coping with his dad's death, _and_ making sure Lily didn't go crazy with the wedding that he forgot to formally ask Ted to be his best man. And that's how Robin ended up hanging with Barney, while Marshall helped Ted with his speech.

They order a scotch each, both neat, and imagine Ted's gel-ridden hair falling down in clumps at the stress.

"So where's your dad?" Barney asks as he takes a sip of his scotch.

"Oh, he's here. Somewhere," Robin says reluctantly. "It's not as if I want to see him, though."

"Daddy issues," he says, nodding in approval. "_Hot_." He winks at her.

Some of the guests see his wink and give him a weird look. It does look very much as though Barney's hitting on another dude, after all. But that doesn't perturb him, Robin thinks wryly, as Barney looks her up and down once more. "So why aren't you hitting on the bridesmaids?" she inquires. She hasn't known Barney for very long, but it seems to be the sort of thing he'd do.

"I _wish_, but Ted's dad made me… _take an oath_. We were under it and everything," Barney asserts.

Robin stares. "And you're keeping your promise?"

"It's _not_ a promise; I'm under an oath. An oath! So here I am," he sighs, then perks up. "Hey, you know what, you're a dude! Why don't I be your wingman tonight?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Let's go."

"What? No!" She yanks her arm from his grip. "_Barney_," she hisses in warning, in the I've-got-a-gun-and-I'm-not-afraid-to-use-it-in-fact-I'd-_love_-to-use-it tone.

He heaves a sigh, and opens to mouth to complain about standing around and watching busty chicks pass by when a deep voice cuts in.

"RJ, there you are."

Robin turns in dread. "…Father."

_The clock will strike twelve. The question is, is it because of the witch or the fairy godmother? _

Meanwhile, Ted the best man is the one freaking out, as opposed to Marshall the groom. He's got twenty frickin' minutes to come up with a toast for the king and queen of Newen. No sweat.

Now there's three things trying to edge itself to the forefront of his mind. First, Buttercup. Second, Robin-is-a-guy. Third, best-man-speech-in-_twenty_-_minutes_, which is important. It's in _twenty minutes_.

So he bounces ideas off Marshall. "…Something about a whale?"

This is not going well.

_Villain or helper?_

Barney watches as Robin Sr. brings Robin Jr. away, sparing him a nod. He wonders if Robin got into trouble for arriving late, or perhaps for consorting with someone from an actual _kingdom_.

At this point, he's wandering along a deserted corridor in the South Wing. That's when a red-haired woman bursts from one of the many doors that line the hallway, and Barney curses his oath to the king. Not hitting on chicks was a ridiculous proposition. In fact, had the king not bound him with the oath as well as a challenge, Barney would…

"You!" the redhead calls, interrupting his thoughts. "Help me. Right, introductions—I'm Lily Aldrin, and you're Barney Stinson, and you've got to help me get rid of a guy by name of Scooter. The guards are busy with the bandits—this _is_ a royal wedding, after all—and Scooter can't really do much harm, but I don't want anything ruining the ceremony, so off you go!"

Barney deduces she's the bride, since this Lily Aldrin has that frenzied look in her face when confronted with imminent monogamy. Plus, she seems to know the guest list back to front. "Even if I were to help you," he says, feeling a little inclined to comply with her, just to kill some time. "How would I know what Scooter looks like?" Scooter, he thinks, is probably an ex of hers. She's good-looking enough to have a guy who's still hung up about her and any ordinary gatecrashers would be a lot more subtle.

"Well—he's there! Behind you!"

Barney spins round as though expecting some spectre to extend a ghostly arm out, only to see a dark-haired man speed in their direction.

"I'll leave it to you," she hisses and slips back into what Barney presumes is the bride's prep room.

Barney bars the door from Scooter's grasp. "Not so fast, dude," he says, and a shark-like grin spreads across his face.

_The clock will strike twelve. The question is, is it for the princess or bride?_

Ted pens down the last section of his speech. "That's it, I'm not changing it anymore. I'm done!" He reads it through. "Well, except for this part… and this part… and here…"

After his perfectionism is satisfied, Marshall forces Ted to leave to enjoy the party, on the grounds that his best-man-ship isn't activated till after the ceremony, since he was appointed late, thereby freeing him to abandon the groom.

Marshall wonders how Lily is doing.

This is how Lily is doing. She's freaking out, and she's mad because Scooter's here. She's also mad because Barney Stinson let Scooter into her dressing room.

"Not so fast," he says, blocking Scooter. But then, her ex looks up with the trademark puppy dog gaze and Barney relents. Who knew such a guy would have a heart for Scooter? But he does, and Scooter's been let loose in her dressing room.

"Lily," he pleads, trying to look her in the eyes. But Lily has a soft spot for that puppy dog look too, so she keeps dodging his gaze. "Don't do this. Come with me!"

"Get out, Scooter. We've been broken up for _years_ now." Lily then turns to Barney. "Get him out!"

"I penned a sonnet, dear love!"

"Out! Out!"

Scooter opens his mouth eagerly to recite.

Lily realizes what kind of a character Barney is. "Get him out, Barney Stinson, and I'll introduce you to one of my bridesmaids."

It's a loophole in his oath to the king. If Lily, the bride and queen of Newen, introduces him to what is hopefully and probably a nine, Barney's off the hook. He wouldn't be the one to engage conversation _first_. He'd merely be… responding.

"Got it."

He disposes of Scooter in ways that may not be entirely legal and returns to Lily's dressing room quickly.

She notes his haste. "Eager as a beaver, I see."

"Not entirely. Maybe eager _for_ a beaver, if you know what I mean. Up top!" He holds his palm up for a high-five.

She reluctantly gives him one, but Barney gives her credit. Marshall's a pretty lucky guy. Well, he hastily corrects himself, not lucky, since he's getting married, but… at least it's to someone who can take a joke. Not like certain women, who have ruined suits with their martinis and, occasionally, scotches.

"I'm beginning to feel a little guilty handing her off to you," Lily says. "And considering who she is, it says a lot about you."

It's clear she has had a falling out with her bridesmaids, so Barney asks why.

Lily gives him a dark look. "She insulted my wedding gown." Right. Bride things. Barney should've known. Lily pokes her head round the door and calls for the said bridesmaid, telling Barney he should be flattered Lily's even acknowledging her hated existence. "I gave her my you-are-dead-to-me look! And now here I am, drudging her back from the ashes."

Barney wonders ponders the age-old question: Hot or not? Weighing the pros and cons of a prospective new you-are-dead-to-me generation of chicks, his attention is snapped back the moment the bridesmaid, Rebecca, appears at the door.

"Right, you." Lily doesn't even want to say the name. "Show Barney Stinson around. He's a friend of mine from Yorken."

A convenient lie, Barney muses—at least until the questions about how they met come flooding in. He waits, but they never do come. Rebecca just flings her sparkling hair around the place with a perfect smile, and he admires her figure and air headedness. Not quite ditzy enough to be a bimbo, but close enough. But then she starts talking about her ex. And Barney thinks: Oh. That kind of girl. That kind of _baggage_. One of the worst kinds, certainly. He tries to steer the conversation to other areas, and semi-succeeds. While he's not getting some from her this evening, she's palming him off to her friend. Her hopefully hot friend. And since hotness begets more hotness, it's more 'probably hot' than 'hopefully hot'.

_But before the ending, and before the clock, comes the twist. An unexpected revelation (or plural), perhaps for more than one party, which just precedes the climax._

Robin can't stop her pulse from racing as her father leads her round the ballroom, greeting the important guests. She's late, late for the wedding, her big test. He's angry, he has to be, no matter what sort of explanation she comes up with.

His first question is, to her relief, a simple though puzzling one. Who was that man? Robin quickly tells him it was Barney Stinson from Yorken. Then the older Scherbatsky briefly muses on Barney's familiarity, which Robin swiftly latches onto as a topic of conversation. It's more to stave off more dangerous questions, but she's intrigued too. Barney has never been to Danca, and she tells him so. But before he can respond, they're swarmed by more people here to meet the royalty of Danca.

"So, RJ," Robin Sr. says as they finally break through the last cloud of guests. "I have a few other, more important, questions. Care to answer them?" He doesn't clarify. He simply waits and gives Robin that cold stare.

"Father, I… I didn't know there would be a masquerade. It wasn't in the invitation, I wasn't informed," she stutters, despite knowing a confident tone would only help her situation, despite hating herself for her meekness.

_Pitiful_, his eyes say. "Go on."

"And I was late… I was late because…" She hesitates, deliberating between a lie and the truth. A lie is safer, incurs less wrath, but the consequences of having her father uncover the truth are severe, to say the least.

His stare never relents, chilling her bones with its severity. Impatience reigns in his eyes, and absurdly, Robin feels a little better being absolved from his uncaring attitude.

She decides on the truth. "…I made a wish."

_Stories are also like dominos. One decision affects the next, flipping through each scenario with brutal haste. A seemingly innocuous choice spurns on a series of severe consequences. But perhaps the most overlooked tendency of stories is the rule that wishes always go wrong. They find a way to make your dreams come true in the cruellest possible method. They turn your decisions against you. The only thing you can be sure of is that your wish is always granted. The conclusion is always reached._

_Endings are only ever endings, after all._

Within the chambers, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.

Lily is nervous. How could she not be? But this restlessness isn't just a fresh wave of bridal nerves. It's an inborn urge to see the world and paint the sights, something she would have to give up once she's queen and bride to Marshall.

In the hall, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.

Ted _has_ to see the girl. Now that the speech is done, now that Robin's identity has sunken in a little bit more, Buttercup is at the forefront of his mind.

Across the room, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.

Barney wishes, more than anything else in the world, that he were not in this room, not in this castle, not in this kingdom. But he's not the one who got the wish.

_The clock will strike twelve._


	3. In Which There Is Much Fleeing

Rebecca-the-hot-bridesmaid ditches him for her ex, but not before she introduces him to her friend. Said friend is still donning a mask; she quickly removes it, and yes, as her figure suggested, she is indeed hot.

She is also very familiar.

"Barney?"

"Barney!"

The first is the woman's incredulous voice, and the latter is Ted's slightly frantic call.

Barney spins to Ted, grabbing his arm and striding away into the crowd in an attempt to lose the woman. "Sorry," he calls back to her, his voice cracking. "You got the wrong guy."

Ted would dismiss this as some vengeful woman he screwed over—usually, that is. But now, as Ted's about to say 'Hey, remember Buttercup from the dance? I'm going to find her, and you're going to help' or something along those lines, Barney's expression catches his eye. It's a look that makes Ted stop and remember that Barney's human, not just some eccentric, womanizing tutor his dad hired. It's a look that makes Ted stop and say, "Are you okay?"

"I know where you can find Buttercup," Barney suddenly promises, wiping his face clean of emotion.

"_What?_" Ted's excited. Ted's distracted. "Where?"

"Anyone as annoyingly romantic and mysterious as _her _would end up at the balcony."

Ted looks wildly round the ballroom.

"It's up on the second level. Take the stairs on the left wing."

When Ted doesn't respond, Barney turns to him. He's already gone.

_Explore the possibilities._

See the world. Paint the sights. Travel the lands. Breathe the colours.

Lily wants to do all of that.

She has two sides—one is the romantic, Prince-Charming-will-come side, and the other is can't-be-tied-down.

Both love Marshall.

She's a bride. It's normal to be distressed, to have—have second thoughts.

_Second thoughts that come to nothing,_ she reminds herself. It's time to forget the flighty Lily Aldrin—but why is it so hard to settle for what she loves? _Because I love other things. Maybe not as much as I love Marshall, but I love painting and new things and exploring too._

She won't act on these thoughts. The traitor notions of fleeing, of leaving, are necessary things for a bride, things that are never acted upon. But… if she's having these thoughts now, then—_No, don't even think of that, Lily Aldrin. There's a whole host of good reasons why you're marrying Marshall, and the mother of all these reasons is that you love him. _

But sometimes, she betrays her picture-perfect, romantic side and thinks that love isn't always enough. This is one of those times, where rebellion rises up to urge her to be different from all those other girls that dream misty-eyed of their wedding. On a whim, she digs out her old leather rucksack and pulls out the wrinkled beret and smock, the garb she donned when she was still travelling the kingdom a starving artist.

Back when she travelled.

It doesn't give her the feeling of closure, that she's actually travelled a little (though only in the small kingdom of Newen). As Lily peers into the dark contents of the bag, the spirit of adventure breathes into her and snatches away her breath. It's in a dream that she undoes her intricately piled-up hair in favour of the scrunched beret. It's possessed that she kicks off her white heels for high-knee travelling boots. But it's in guilt that she stays in the room, shame barring her from trotting out and good sense keeping her in.

_Second encounters are just as magical as first impressions._

Ted bolts up the stairs, sliding his hand round the slick banister as he sticks close to the edge, trying to dodge the flow of guests walking down. As he runs to the balcony, he remembers Buttercup's smile, her laugh, her hair, her hands, her shoes, and those eyes peeking out from the bright mask. Yellow locks dance across his mind and out of it; before him, he sees a mane of gold hair framed by night.

He slows to a jog, then a brisk walk, striding past the elegantly carved French windows and out to the pale pink balcony. Heart thudding as a fool in love, he feels a smile spread across his face and taps her shoulder.

Buttercup turns round, mask-less. Definitely her, Ted thinks as he gets a good look at her face. She takes a step back in shock. "Crow?" That's a damn cool alias. He inwardly congratulates himself. Then he sees the colour has drained out of her face. "You found me—oh! You're… you're the prince, Ted Mosby!"

"And you are…?"

"A name couldn't hurt, I guess. I'm Victoria."

She gives another cute smile, so Ted lightly places one hand at her waist, the other with hers on the railing and kisses her.

_Picture perfect moments are ever so precious. And then there're the deleted scenes._

Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. stares at her as though she's mad. "A wish?" he hisses. He of all people knows how dangerous such a thing is. "What was this _wish_?"

"Nothing," she blurts out, feeling as small as she's ever felt, the independent, strong Robin fleeing in lieu of an emerging meekness. "I just… There was a fairy."

"We passed no enchanted woods, boy!"

"The carriage went out of control. I went looking for one of the horses that bolted and came across a fairy. The moon was high, so it was around ten thirty." Keep talking, placate him with little details, and just avoid the meat of it. Avoid the wish and maybe it'll disappear. "I don't know where she came from, but she was blonde and fair and—"

"—Like every other fairy in the book. Prattle on about these things if you will, but you know what you must tell me."

Robin Jr. doesn't answer him.

"The _wish_," he demands, jaw set and eyes blazing with authority. "_What was your wish_?"

Then her father is pushed forward rudely by another guest, who offers a quick apology. Robin feels so desperate and scared that in the brief moment that his eyes are off her, she slips away.

She's gasping as she weaves in and out of people in the ballroom, before doubling back to get a glimpse of where her father was when she'd left. She will have to get her bearings, know his position, Robin reasons as her hunting instinct kicks in. But Robin Sr. has disappeared from below the third chandelier, and she's left feeling so very unsettled. The good part is that she finds her saviour.

"Barney! Barney, you really saved me back there. Thanks."

He looks troubled himself, but says, "Hey, what are bros for?" He glances around. "Let's go to the hall."

She obliges, eager to get away from the ball and confident in Barney's knowledge of this foreign castle. She doesn't know where her father will look for her, but for now, she embraces the illusion of safety. "So what's up? Your dad looked pissed."

"It's just… just… family stuff, you know?" Robin tries.

He's not taking the bait. "C'mon Robin, you can tell me. Or I'll find out. Take your pick."

"God, you're nosey."

"Call me Barney."

She's still upset, so it takes her a moment to get it. "Har har."

"Well?"

Isn't this crossing the boundaries of tentative friendship? Rooting out her secrets like this, one by one. It's bad enough that he knows she's female. "Just angry I was late."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, Barney. That's it."

Her tone is such that even he realizes he's gone a little too personal a little too fast, and that this is a secret that she wouldn't divulge for her life. So he's silent for a while.

That's when _his _secret comes rushing up.

_Even in a simple fairytale, there's a lot going on beneath the surface._

Robin Sr. raises a silver eyebrow at the man who ran off after a hasty apology, and then a disapproving gaze at the spot where his daughter once stood. She can't escape forever. She's the prince, and he's her father. There is simply no need for him to stalk her like a hunter to a deer when she will have to come back to him at the end of the night. This just gives her a little time to come up with a convincing lie—and it is, at least, an entertaining challenge to dissect such fibs.

Then another thought strikes him, on quite a different track than his tiresome offspring. That man, the blonde haired, blue-eyed man that he had seen with his daughter, and again after bumping into him—only now does Robin Sr. realize why he looked so familiar.

No, the old man had never actually seen him in person, but he knows the bastard. That Whitaker man with his promiscuous Loretta caused quite a ruckus way back when.

_Who are you? One question of many._

The kiss fades off into the night air as they settle in an embrace.

"Victoria," Ted repeats, savouring the word, turning it over in his mouth as though to taste it from all angles. "That's but a name. Who are you?"

She laughs. "What more do you want? A surname?"

"That would be nice, yes, but… I want to _know_ you." He bites down the words _like, know your soul_. "You know all about me already. I'm prince of Yorken, pretty famous you know. What about you? Who are you?"

She bites her lip. "Well, I make things. Let's say… cakes. I make cakes."

"Okay." This is a bit weird. Clearly, 'cakes' refers to something else, something she either doesn't want to talk about, or can't. "Are they… good cakes?" _Is there such a thing as a bad cake? Well, we aren't literally talking about cakes, so…_

"I don't like them myself. Actually, I technically don't make cakes," she corrects herself. "It's the customers who make them."

"Interesting cake business," he muses with a grin. "You running the trade?"

"Nah, it's part of an umbrella dealing with loads of branches, but not really run by anyone. I have a partner though. We all do." Ted continues to look at her expectantly. "I wish I could tell you more," she says. "But I've already said too much."

So his question is left unanswered: _Who are you?_

_Who am I? A question most sought after._

Lily wishes she could knock the sense back into herself, but she can't seem to shake the madness. Well, if she can't control her thoughts, her actions could put them in their place. She dumps her old clothes and beret back into the rucksack and shoves it under the cabinet.

Where's Marshall? She wishes she could see him, take in that big, reassuring presence, see him and just let her wild desire to flee morph into some primitive urge to, you know, ravage him, but she can't. It's against tradition, against the rules.

Though Lily doesn't know it, this is a wedding full of clichés. It's a night of love, betrayal, secrets, and to top it all off, the runaway bride.

_Fairytales. How formulaic._

His secret comes up with a martini in hand. "There you are!" she exclaims. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" She's too casual, too shameless, and he's much too affected.

"I have no idea who you're looking for, but it's not me," Barney manages, and, as he did with Ted, drags Robin away from the pretty blonde. At least he didn't completely clam up, acceding to his dry throat, but now he's blabbering even as he dashes off with Robin in tow. "And even if you did know me, I sure don't remember you. Who are you, again? Don't make much of an imprint is what I mean. I see lots of women, loads of blondes, and they're hotter than you, so I don't really recall—"

Robin stops him short, yanking him back with surprising strength. Luckily, the other woman hasn't pursued them. "How did she know you?"

"I just said, I don't know—"

He jerks them round a sharp corner and leans against the wall.

"Well, you've discovered one of my secrets, so I have every right—"

"—Every right? No, Robin, you have _no_ right," Barney laughs.

He falls silent, and the two of them begin to walk along the new corridor.

Silence suits them.

It dictates company, but maintains distance. Their secrets are bound and kept in the tacit understanding. It's a comfortable companionship.

But then Barney realizes the first thing out of Robin's mouth wasn't: Who is she? It was: How does she know you? "Do you know who she is?" Barney questions. I didn't, he thinks. I didn't know who she truly was till she left.

Robin turns to him, and sees his unusually serious eyes boring into her. "Sort of. How do _you_ know her?"

He shrugs. "Never said I did." Then: "Hang on." He stops suddenly, a thought zipping past his mind and piercing his consciousness. Danger alarms go off in his head as he suddenly remembers. He's seen soon-to-be Queen Lily's guest list; Shannon had not been on it. He would have known if she'd been on it, and she wasn't. And neither, he realizes, was Buttercup, for he now knows who this Buttercup truly is. And he _knows_ why both Shannon and Buttercup are here.

Dangerous. Very dangerous.

Robin comes to a halt too, when she sees him stop.

"You…" he begins. "You made a wish, didn't you?"

Robin's first reaction is her body seizing up with panic and guilt. Her second is the irate thought of: Not again. "N-no," she coughs.

Barney's eyes flash. "I don't believe it. Of all the things you could've been tangled up in, you choose to tinker with _fate_? _That's_ why you were late?"

"That's what you said, not me."

"What was the wish?" She doesn't respond, and he continues, "So _this_ was why your dad was mad—and I have to say… I don't blame him."

The mention of Robin Sr. gets her blood boiling, and she decides to get back at Barney, an almost stranger, to where she's sure it'll hurt. "And how do _you_ know her?" she shoots at him, completely shoving aside the wish issue. "How do you know _Shannon_? Made a wish yourself, did you?"

"That's your MO, not mine!"

Their tones are venomous and injured, their glares equally derisive, and they've somehow managed to escalate to a shouting match.

Barney swallows. "We have to find Ted. He's with Buttercup—Victoria."

"…I found her when the horses ran loose. She's the one who granted my wish. I only knew about Shannon when I saw the both of them travelling together to here."

They walk side-by-side, up the stairs and turn the corner. "What was your wish?"

"What was yours?" she challenges.

"I told you. I didn't ask her for one."

"Then how did you know her? And why did you react so strongly against even the _thought_ of a wish?"

"Two completely different stories. What was your wish?" he asks again, turning the conversation to her.

They're both secretive people. He'll never accede, and she doesn't answer. "There they are," Robin says instead, seeing Victoria and Ted emerge from the balcony.

Ted's eyes widen in pleasant surprise at seeing the two of them there. Victoria seems less happy. "Robin Scherbatsky…" she says slowly, identifying the pretend-prince. She turns to Barney and squints. "And… Barney Stinson?"

Barney jerks back slightly. He obviously didn't expect her to recognize him, Robin thinks.

"You know them?"

"I know them."

"Yeah, yeah. You know us, she knows us, we know you guys," Barney drawls. "But do you know _her_?"

Ted looks a little taken aback. "What d'you mean?"

"What I mean," he begins, slowly than necessary for dramatic effect. "Is whether you know why Victoria—Victoria who is not on the guest list—is here."

"Not on the guest list. So what?"

"So, the purpose of her attending this wedding is not to celebrate the marriage between Marshall and Lily, but something far more specific. And far more sinister." Barney picks out his words carefully.

Victoria remains silent. Robin feels as much a culprit as she.

"What I mean," Barney reiterates. "What I mean, dear Ted, is possibly more than you can handle."

"Just get to the point. If you even have one." Ted misses the thick tension in the room, simply impatient at the tutor's antics.

"What I mean—and you have to believe this horrible but true… truth…"

Ted turns to Victoria. She nods, albeit a little reluctantly. "…Sure, Barney, I'll believe you. Whatever 'horrible truth' this turns out to be."

"What I mean is that she is here with someone else."

Ted's mouth drops open in horror.

"…But not in the way that you think," Barney amends.

Deadpan glare, which is not entirely effective with chocolate brown eyes.

"She's here with her… business partner."

"So she's here for work. Big deal."

"Ah, but it is. You see, the topic of her work might be a bit… Well, shall I tell you what she works as?"

"Go ahead! I mean, if you're okay with it," Ted adds, glancing at Victoria. She gives a shrug, along with a hard stare at the blonde man.

"Alright then." He pauses—_hesitates_, when he sees the look on Robin's face. "W-well, Teddy boy, prepare yourself. Because Victoria here, Victoria and her partner… They're here to grant a wish."

It doesn't achieve the effect Barney has hoped for. Ted is far more anticlimactic. But perhaps it's because Barney's forgotten what it's like to just be told 'A wish is bad' than to actually experience to consequences of an innocent wish. To know that everything that played out was your fault, was because of one weak moment, was because of _you_.

"What?" Ted says blankly.

"Perhaps it's all too surreal for you. Allow me to demonstrate the correct reaction." Barney brings his hands up to his head, purses his lips together to emit an explosive sound, and jerks his arms away as though his brain were imploding. "And now, an explanation. Victoria is here to grant a wish. Who grants wishes?"

"Well, er, fairies?"

"Okay. Victoria is here to grant a wish. Fairies grant wishes. What does this tell you about Victoria?" Barney speaks slowly, and looks expectantly at Ted.

"Look, I know you're expecting me to… I don't know, explode or something at this startling revelation, but this is a really lame prank. Victoria? Fairy? Come _on_!"

"Denial suits you, I can't deny that. So feel free to labour under your delusions, not even noticing how Victoria's been suspiciously silent throughout this apparently ridiculous exchange." He shrugs, and makes to walk away before Ted speaks.

"Well, if Victoria's here to grant a wish, if she's a fairy, which she's not, then who's the wish for?" Ted challenges.

Barney's eyes give a little flicker, and Robin can see he's resisting sparing a glance at her and giving her away. He was angry, is angry, at her for making such a reckless decision as to make a wish, but he seems unwilling to divulge to Ted that she's the true culprit behind all this. "You'll see," Barney finally replies, then changes the focus of the conversation. "And when you clear this all up with Victoria, remember… everything that happens tonight was from that wish." This last part is directed at Robin, a warning.

**_Marshall._**

Lily changes her mind a thousand and one times, even venturing out of the room at one point, until she finally slumps down on the long bench. Then, she stands and rummages around in the closet, the dresser, and her beaded bag to extricate choice items, and stows them into her old travelling rucksack.

Now, to take care of Marshall. She sits at her dresser, dipping her quill in bottle-blue ink and pens a letter. She fastens it with her old craftsmen seal and a kiss, and steps out of the room once more.

She doesn't want to be at the thick of the crowd, which would invite too many questions and witnesses, so she goes up to the second storey and very nearly bumps into someone just about to join the ball. "Oh. Hello… Barney." Her mind flips through the mental guest list, matching it with her more recent memories of the man fending off Scooter.

"Hi."

"Um, I need you to, er, give this to Marshall. Not right now!" _Be cool, Lily!_ "It's a surprise. We lo—he loves surprises. Give it to him about… half past twelve?"

"What time is it now?"

Lily cranes her neck past the banister and checks the huge clock looming above the ballroom. "Ten to twelve."

He looks troubled. "…Sure. No problem."

She nods gratefully, then runs back to her dressing room, head full of guilt and exploration. Barney watches her go, then looks down at the simple white envelope entrusted to him. Something is going on here, a set of consequences the wish had spelled, and this, surely, is one of them.

And so close to midnight, too.

There are two kinds of wishes: Immediate, and curse. The immediate wish happens on the next midnight of the day the wish is made, for midnight is the hour of magic. The cursed wish is no more and no less of a curse than the other type of wish, just that it lasts a lot longer. Perhaps a better name to classify it would be long-term, with its effects and developments drawing out.

At least some of his hated knowledge has come in useful, Barney reflects. Maybe enough to avert another disaster.

Robin's wish is certainly immediate—both Victoria and Shannon turn up at this ball, and the dominoes have already been flipped, with midnight coming round the corner. Barney has to try to stop the wish from being carried out, interrupt the cause-and-effect that's in play. He doesn't know if it's possible, but… just maybe. So he peels open the envelope and slips out the white parchment, when something catches his eye. The seal he has broken to open the letter is a travelling seal, a working seal, something far more low-class than the royalty of the guests here, and indeed, the entire establishment. Wrinkling his brow, Barney unfolds the letter and scans through the blue script, quickly at first, and then his eyes jump up to slowly read the neat calligraphy once more.

By the time the implications sink into his mind, he's already dashed downstairs.

_**By the time you read this, I'll be long gone**_.

The conversation is surreal. Ted doesn't know what to say as Victoria confirms Barney's ludicrous proclamations, and he just stands there, staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. "A-and you?" he finally says, turning to Robin. "What do you have to do with this?"

Robin blinks, determined not to answer, but there's something so paternally authoritative about Ted's tone that her mouth works on its own. "I'm the client."

Ted steps back, as though a blow has been dealt to him. "So you're… a fairy. A fairy! And _you _somehow met her and made a wish and that's why Victoria and her partner are here—to grant your wish. And I danced with you," he says slowly, turning to Victoria. "That's why you wanted to keep your identity secret—and then I found you… and we kissed. You're a fairy!"

"I think we've established that," Robin says, just to fill the shocked silence. "Am I done here?"

Now he turns to her. "A wish. A wish. Didn't anyone teach you that wishes are, uh, I don't know, _evil_?" He throws his hands into the air. "You know what, yeah, you're done here. A wish is a wish, nothing can be done about it, and I'm frankly more concerned with the fact that I fell in love with a fairy!"

Robin leaves before the penny drops; before the phrase 'fell in love' fully resounds in the awkward silence that's sure to follow.

Ted and Victoria are left alone now.

"Fairies aren't nymphs, you know," she says quietly, sidestepping the too-soon 'in love'. "We don't tramp about with men every time we get down to Earth."

"Every time you 'get down to Earth'? Where're you from, the moon?" he throws out carelessly.

"Yeah."

Oh god. This is getting weird.

Ted tries to avoid sinking to deep into this bizarre new fact. Unless that was a sad attempt at an icebreaker joke, but he doesn't want to take any chances. "Yeah, well, I don't know. You know."

Awkward too.

_**This isn't out of some noble cause to protect you—it is a selfish reason, something for me alone.**_

The clock will strike twelve, but Barney would be damned if he let that happen. But when he tries to cut across the ballroom, she turns up again.

"I knew it was you."

"Yeah, it's me. And I gotta go."

Why did this demoness keep popping up? Why did he have to bump into her no less than three times in this crowded ball? Then he realizes that it's the same reason why she came in the first place: To grant a wish.

He reviews his unwanted wish knowledge once more. In each pair of fairies, one plans and the other executes. The one who plans aims to actually fulfil the wish; the one who executes aims to include as many side effects as possible. It's a bit like a game. And now it's clear that in the pair of Victoria and Shannon, the latter is the one carrying out the soon-to-be twisted plan.

He's in it too. He's in the plan.

Shannon must see his changing expression, the look of dawning comprehension, because when he tries to make a sudden bolt, she pursues in record time. "Barney! Barney!" she calls as he tries to lose her in the crowd, feeling his pulse race and stomach clench with each shout.

He glances up at the clock. Eleven fifty-five.

_**As all brides do, I panicked.**_

Robin's walking along, wondering how Ted and Victoria are doing, when someone barrels into her. It's a confused moment of tangled limbs and hard impacts, before they both ram into a wall and sink into the carpet. She blinks away the dancing dots in her vision and shifts away from the man. "Barney?"

Why is it always Barney?

He narrows his eyes blearily, a spark of recognition appearing as he identifies her, before he turns his attention upward. Silhouetted before them is a woman—the other fairy. Shannon.

Barney gets up from beside her, checking something in the inner pocket of his jacket. Pointedly ignoring the fairy, he limp-jogs along the corridor. Shannon tails him casually. Scrambling up, thoughts of Ted and Victoria lost from her mind, Robin jogs to catch up with Barney.

"What's up?" she hisses, unwilling to let Shannon overhear. Barney seems to be trying to avoid her, so Robin won't complicate that.

"What time is it?" he asks.

She turns round to squint at the ornate clock. "Eleven fifty-seven."

He speeds up his pace, but it's clear his long legs are injured from the nasty fall. Robin's less hurt, since it was Barney that mostly took the impact on the wall. "What was your wish?" he returns.

"No."

Then he ignores her completely, eyes focussed on the door at the end of the corridor. He's at a limp-run with Robin beside him when he finally pushes the door open.

"Marshall!" The groom is pacing up and down the room when Barney rushes up to him. "Read this. Now." He retrieves a letter from his inside pocket and thrusts it at the king. Robin comes up beside Marshall, and tiptoes to read it too.

_**The only difference is that I'm acting on the insecurity and fright.**_

Victoria suddenly whips around, breaking off the conversation, and peers up at the heavy clock overhead. Ted follows her gaze, noting the time: Eleven fifty-eight. An expression crosses her face so quickly that Ted can't distinguish it, and then she looks back at him with a desperate, apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Ted. I have to go."

"Why?"

"I can't say—I can never say—but I assure you this isn't some lame excuse. I really do have to go."

"No—wait—"

But she throws a tight hug—an embrace—round him and kisses him hard on his lips, a farewell kiss befitting of every romance, and runs off. He, of course, gives chase, shouting her name with each turn. He's thankful that she doesn't pull some disappearing act, fairy-style. They end up at the backdoor of the establishment, large and marble, but without the footmen and guards.

_**I love you, but first, I must do something for myself.**_

Marshall, Robin and Barney race across the ballroom again, but not before Shannon catches him on his arm. "You're staying right here," she says. Marshall zips past without hesitation, completely focussed on thoughts of Lily, but Robin doubles back when she notices he's no longer at their side.

"Fine, whatever," Barney retorts. "Marshall can stop her on his own."

Shannon shakes her head with a smile. "You think I don't know my business well enough? With you out of the picture, Lily will go."

He looks at her confusedly.

(She's just a placeholder in this story, a role that needs to be fulfilled. She has nothing to do with him, no dark past, no aching pain, _nothing_. So stop feeling as though you're going to retch.)

"If Lily still goes with only Marshall there, then she would have gone if you'd let me go. But besides that, how in _hell_ does this pertain to Robin's _wish_? I doubt she came to gatecrash a wedding," he interrogates.

"You want to know the wish?"

"Yeah, I want to know the wish."

Robin looks on, watching Barney's fierce gaze, noting his strange reluctance to be wrapped up with this Shannon thing, while persisting to unravel the mystery. She doesn't step in. It seems far too late.

Shannon takes a step closer to him. Barney jumps back by about a foot. His eyebrows knit downward, agitated by his own reaction, and then tilts his head aggressively. "And the wish?" he challenges.

She gives another small, secret smile.

"Same as yours."

_**I'm sorry.**_

Victoria manages to get a few steps down from the door, but then Ted finally catches up. He grabs her by the sleeve. "No, Victoria, I…" He struggles for words, then settles for an oft-heard question, dreaded and uncertain. "Will I see you again?"

She levels a look at him, considering him. "I hope so."

Both are about to speak again when something sounds through the air: the toll of the giant clock inside the ballroom.

The clock has struck twelve.

It's midnight, Ted thinks, and somehow, that seems important. Everything happens at midnight. Victoria seems to have shaken herself out of some kind of stupor, jolted from the longing of lingering at the ball, and rapidly turns away from him. "I have to go!" She shakes herself from his loose grip.

Ted flings out his hand once more to catch her, but she's flitted off, rushing down the stairs with the click-clack of her shoes.

She disappears into the night before he can pursue her, and he doesn't go beyond the walls: He has a duty here as best man to Marshall and Lily's wedding, and his heart is full of hope—he will see Victoria again; he must. A single clue lays at his feet, something that must have been flung off in her haste to leave.

Her snowflake shoe.

_**With all my love,**_

Marshall catches up with Lily at the second stroke of midnight. She's at the second entrance, the one specially for the more important guests and far from the crowds at the ballroom. She's already at the bottom of the steps in her travelling wear when he bursts from the gold-gilded door.

"Lily!"

The third chime of the clock quickly follows his call. Lily spins around at the sound of his voice, a myriad of expressions mixed in the face that Marshall can read so well—Hesitance, eagerness, determination, guilt, desperation, uncertainty, and resolve.

She doesn't speak. She knows that if she speaks, she will stay. Having him here is enough to make her want to stay, but she shies away from those thoughts.

"Lily, come back. It's our wedding now, and it's happening! I know it's more than just nerves; there's a lot of responsibility with the kingdom, and I know you have dreams, but I also know we can have everything and make everything happen—together."

He doesn't make a move toward her, and she doesn't move toward him.

"Whatever it is you have to do for yourself, I can help you. We can do it together."

The clock rings out four, five, six, seven, eight, nine times through his little speech.

"I love you."

Ten and eleven echo in the silence that follows. Lily seems to shift toward him, gravitate as she has always done toward him, but then she spins around and runs off. She shouts back at him, unwilling to look at him and speak lest her resolve falters.

"I love you." The twelfth chime drowns it out, but they both know what's been said.

It's midnight, officially.

Marshall stands on the steps, with the lonely promise of love.

_**Lily.**_


	4. Mysteries Abound

The wedding ends.

No—the wedding doesn't just end; it crashes around them in spectacular destruction, leaving behind a string of hearts, and mystery curling into the air like smoke.

At least that's how Barney sees it. Marshall is heartbroken, Ted hopeless, and wishes abound. Word has spread faster than light—meaning, of course, with the speed of gossip—of the runaway bride, and everyone's distraught and spouting words like 'minx' and 'traitorous', because that's what you do when the king is left at the altar, or so he told Ted. Everything is being cleaned up and washed out, guests leaving in dismay, and Marshall… well, Ted can deal with Marshall. Ted knows Marshall; Barney doesn't. The problem is, Ted can't shake the feelings he has for Victoria—love, not just feelings, but _love_—as he did with Robin. And that's a problem because Marshall needs more help so Ted doesn't have the time to deal with his own feelings, and being in love with a _fairy_ isn't helpful in the old king's wish for Ted to be wed to a proper ol' queen.

So he stands at the edge of the fray, thinking. He'll let Ted continue trying to shake Marshall out of his dumb stupor, let Ted comfort him as best friends do. Then when someone else can take over the job, Barney can deal with Ted properly. But now? Now he has to concentrate on those wishes.

_And the wish?_

_Same as yours._

Then the clock had struck midnight and Shannon disappeared. The moment her form dematerialized, havoc had spread through the ballroom—_the bride's gone, run away, Lily Aldrin!—_and the agitated crowd separated him and Robin.

How could Robin have made the same wish as him? But Barney knows it's possible, considering the both of them. It would be the same wish, the same phrasing, just that Robin took a bit of an artistic license to it. But the two wishes would differ in meaning.

His thoughts jump to Ted again, but he shakes his head. Ted comes later. First, the wish, and that means Robin. So he tiptoes and cranes his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of a feminine boy with cropped hair and a white suit. "Robin…" he mutters. "…Come on…"

Then he sees her.

She's losing herself in the crowd, snapping her head back every now and then—warily searching for her dad? He moves to catch her when she emerges from the sea of people.

"Well, I've found out your wish."

"And she said it was the same as yours. You told me you didn't make a wish."

"I said I didn't _ask_ _her_ for one. Not the same thing."

"Right. Anyway, mine hasn't been granted yet," Robin informs him lightly.

He frowns. "It has. The effects just need a bit of time to kick in. I hope you're happy with what you've done, because you've basically ruined a wedding and gotten Ted's heart broken, and even got _Shannon_ to come _here_ and get _me_ entangled in all this, all to get what you want."

"I didn't get what I want," She says, ignoring the point.

"You will. It's happened. But you know what? You won't be happy. And I'm not just saying that because you'll always have a guilty conscience on what happened because of your wish. The reason is that wishes are _never what they seem_. There's a reason for all those tales and cautions—they're all true. Fairies will twist your words, make the worst out of them, and no one gets what they _really_ want in the end."

She doesn't answer, and avoids his gaze.

"You'll be getting your dad back, alright. But not in the way you think."

_Two people, two wishes, but they were one and the same. _

There is a king, and his name is Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. He is not a good father. He is not a good man. But he wasn't always that way.

There once was a king, and his name was Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. He was as good a king as could be, fair and just, guiding Danca with the strict hand needed to turn it to success. He was stern but kind, the type of king that was respected and vaguely loved.

He did his best to rule, and he succeeded at much of what he did. There was just one thing—an heir. He wished for a son to carry on his legacy and lead the kingdom when he would be no longer able. But alas, his wife failed to bear a child of any kind through the years. When at last, she did, he was joyful beyond compare at their turn of fortune, making preparations for the birth of their long-awaited son.

There was just one catch.

He got a daughter.

He was shocked, bitterly disappointed, but his rage never extended so far as it would in the future. When the girl was still a child, he showed at most agitation and annoyance. He raised her perhaps not as lovingly as he should have, but well and with care. Still, he kept her gender a secret from the kingdom, as a precaution should his wife fail to bear him a son in future. Robin Sr. taught her to hunt and run, to fight, to win, and she took his lessons with enthusiasm. Then his wife bore a second child after much labour—a second daughter. His thinning patience snapped—anything less than perfect, less than what he wished, was an abomination. His wife left with Katie, breaking off their already fragile marriage. He never sought another queen, and now he turned sterner and less understanding, showing less concern to what he convinced himself was his son. But as Robin Jr. grew, her body was that of a comely woman's, even with her cropped her and angular face, and it was harder and harder to pretend.

Those were the years he reigned with tyranny. The years after his wife departed because of his growing obsession and rising frustrations, the years he showed less and less rationality or warmth, the years he grew hard and cold, sometimes worse with rage. The years when his teenage daughter knew how things should be and once were, when she looked at her father and saw nothing of her kin.

Some years pass, but those are not the years that did. The king is not a good father. He is not a good man. But Robin wishes he were again.

_I wish my father would return._

"And you?" She tilts her head aggressively. "You made a wish too."

"You tell me."

"You wished for your father back. Did it… did it work?"

He remembers the day. "Yes," Barney says shortly. Robin waits. "Yeah, it worked. Consequences still going on, left, right and centre."

"But it worked. You got what you wanted."

"No! Have you been listening? You never get what you want, never what you intended—"

"—But your wish came true, you got your father back—"

"—In a packed box, yeah, that's great!"

There is a frozen moment in time that horror seems to fill the space around them, that Barney's breathing heavily in remembrance, that Robin's stark white with shock.

"God," she manages. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

So the secret's out. Maybe she'll be more careful now. Damage has been done for the both of them, no helping it, nothing to do about it…

They stand there for a long time.

_Deceiver, dissembler/Your trousers are alight/From what pole or gallows/Shall they dangle in the night?_

Where is she going? Away.

That's the basic outline of her insane plan, if one would consider it a plan. Not that it was ever pre-meditated. But all Lily knows now is that she's running. If she stops now, looks back, _thinks_ back, she'd run all the way back to Marshall.

She can't. She has to discover—something. Has to know…

She needs to know who she is, beyond Marshall.

But hasn't she already? She's spent the years before Marshall wandering the lands; shouldn't she have figured it out? But she hadn't, and she doesn't. What Marshall is… He has a role: the King. And only with him is she the queen, Lily reasons, so she just needs to find her place beyond that.

Stupid. Stupid reason, excuse, whatever, she's run and gone.

Her feet beat upon the uneven ground. This can't be her. This can't be her. She can't be the one who runs away, who succumbs to fear, and the funny part is, Lily's on a quest to find herself, and this is her. What she does under circumstances like these, the big things that matter—that's when someone's true nature comes out, and this is hers.

Running away.

And all sorts of things lie in wait out here in the dark. Things that go bump in that night. And who knows what sort of creatures she'd meet? Werewolves, elves, witches, vampires, demons… She clutches at her pouch, fingering the weapons inside. A dagger, a couple of stakes, and a silver knife stand between her and certain death.

This is crazy. She's crazy, and why is she doing this again? Her mind spins in endless circles, never quite reaching the axis that her thoughts are revolving around. It nags at her even as her turmoil of emotions whirl ever quicker, something she ought to know, to figure out…

And in the same dark night, a lithe blonde figure watches, a light smile upon her shadowed face as she takes in the effects of the granted wish-spell.

Lily finally stops at the mouth of a cave. Good for shelter, bad for… potential bugaboos. She did have a few weapons, and has fought out of more than a scrape or two, but there are night monsters she'd rather not face. Best not to linger—

But before she can step out of the way, a rough hand grabs her and jerks her into the darkness.

_And she left nothing behind, not even her love._

Marshall clutches the letter tightly in his hands, unable to move, to read, to think, to live. His eyes stare blankly at the crisp parchment, forever entranced by the last line of the text—_With all my love, Lily._

He doesn't sense Ted stepping up to his shoulder, probing his vacant expression with concern, then sweeping his gaze down to read the letter. "Come on," Ted urges gently. "Let's go to your dressing room, before the guests swarm out." Numbly, Marshall follows Ted down a deserted route back to the holding room, where no one else may enter to harass him. He sinks silently into the velvet chair. "Now," Ted begins again. "What we're going to do is look for… her. Send out a Watch—they haven't done so, not without your instruction—and tell them she's not to be harmed or punished in any way, just to be escorted back here…"

There was no sign that Marshall heard him.

"Okay?" Ted prompts.

"Why?" the other questions, most surprisingly.

"Well, it's really dangerous out here at night, for one. Or do you mean—"

"—No. Don't send a Watch for her. Or—yeah, we should, definitely. And…" Marshall trails off.

"It's going to be alright. Just… hang on," Ted assures. _It is, truly. Everything's going to be fine, and you have the snowflake show, and I'm not making any sense, am I? _But Marshall is the priority here.

"No! No, it's not going to be alright. She's _gone_. Lily's—gone. Don't know if she's even coming back, or why the hell she left, but I'm here, and she's not, and all I've got is this stupid piece of paper!"

Anger. That's a good sign, right? At least he's not moping, or blaming himself. "I can't believe she'd do that," Ted agreed.

"And she couldn't have; it couldn't have been her. Not Lily. No way."

Denial now. That's expected. "No, it was her. You have to accept that, Marshall, or you'll never…"

Never what? Move on? Get her back?

"I love her, she loves me, so it doesn't add up—she can't have left."

"Then who?"

"I don't know! A spell, or blackmail, or a doppelganger, even." He paced round the room agitatedly. "Didn't you say—a fairy was here? Maybe it was a wish, something happened!"

"Don't blame it on magic. That's the easy way out."

But, though neither of them knew it, both of them were right.

"So what will you do?"

"Send a Watch out… but just… don't bring her back here unless she asks. Just make sure she gets through the night." And Marshall breaks down weeping. Ted's surprised he's made it this far without a good cry, but now there's tears, and he comforts Marshall as best he can. "No—go—notify the Watch," the king bids. "And… that fairy you were talking about… Victoria… find her too. And bring her here." His tone is icy cold.

"She had nothing to do with this; she was here for Robin," Ted couldn't help but protest.

"I know wishes, Ted, and they have consequences." Ted is reminded eerily of Barney's own assertions as Marshall speaks. "And even—even if she's had nothing to do with… Lily, we still have to… look into it."

"Fine. But you have to go with me." Marshall can't just mope about, Ted reasons. He needs something to do, some purpose to fulfil.

Marshall hesitates for a fraction of a second, then nods slightly. "Let's go, then." He shoves his tears to the back of his mind, concentrating on the mission at hand.

They march out of the dressing room, calling to guards and messengers. Ted spots Barney with Robin at the edge of the hall. They look unusually serious, sombre even. "Hey," he calls out, as Marshall continues to handle the guards. "Have you heard?" Stupid question. Of course they heard.

Both of them jerk their heads up, as if woken from a reverie. "Yeah," Robin finally answers. "Of course. What's going to happen now?"

"Cancelling the wedding, fabricating a story—no need for things to get blown out of proportion," Ted blabbers. In other words, lie outright to preserve both Marshall's and Lily's dignity. "We're sending a Watch to find Lily. Just make sure she's safe."

"Bringing her back to the castle?"

"No," Marshall says, after he's dismissed the guards. "No, she ran to get away from here."

And unspoken, the words _away from me_ echo painfully.

Everything just seems so raw. Everything's right there, lay out in the open, and no time to deal with it. He mustn't have time to deal with it, to think about it, or he'll shatter. So he takes Ted by the arm and moves on from Barney and Robin, keeping busy, always busy, or he'll be achingly aware that the world's fallen away from his feet.

_Things that go bump in the night._

She doesn't scream, just immediately bites down on the skin of her kidnapper's palm. It's icy cold, and she suddenly knows what has captured her. Not a human, as she first thought. A vampire.

Crap.

She stretches her fingers to lightly brush the stake fixed at her side, but the vampire's grip is so steely that she can't stretch enough to quite grab it. Now she scream, furiously so, and struggles as much as she can. He has to let go of her sometime, and when that moment comes, she can scoop up the stake and stab him right in the heart.

Right. Because she's just that brave. She won't freeze up. Definitely not. She can do this.

But why would he let her go? He could just lean down and bite her throat, within easy reach. Perhaps the action would loosen his grip, just enough that she can kill him. Vampires, she reflects in the throes of stifling fear, are remarkably easy to dispatch. You have to damage a human, disable his organs, but with vampires, sunlight can reduce them to some dust. A stake to the heart achieves the same result. Though that would kill a human as well, so maybe not a valid point.

The rocking motion of the vampire's steps stop abruptly, and Lily finds herself in the depths of the cave she so unwisely stepped in front of. She extends her fingers, ready to grab her stake. As she predicted, the vampire leans down to her neck, the pulsing blood rushing through her veins, and his grip shifts. Just enough.

In one swift movement, she gets a tenuous hold of the wooden stake and stabs it into the body.

Into the… stomach?

Whoops.

But the vampire reels back in unexpected pain anyway, loosening his hold on her even more, and she slides free. She fumbles with the catch of her pouch, finally yanking a stake from its recesses, poised to fight. The glint of the moonlight allows her some view of the vampire.

It's a man, as she had surmised. He has silvery hair, balding when he was human, and a slightly stocky frame. Not exactly vampire material. But he _is_ a vampire, and he's strong. Lily knows she doesn't stand a chance. Just prolonging the one-sided fight, she thinks, as he pulls the stake from his stomach.

Her heart beats ever faster as the vampire grins in anticipation, fangs clearly protruding from his gums. And then—voices. Definitely human, and she's fairly certain she can hear Langston among them, the main guard from Newen.

The vampire's heard them too, long before she had, Lily realizes. That's why he had hesitated in actually attacking her. A search party would be fully equipped in all manners of decapitation and otherwise, maybe a few vampire hunters among them. Capable of handling just one vampire.

He snarls, an ugly feral rip of sound, and, having apparently decided to go for his victim, leaps at Lily. She is jerked into action in her terror, holding her stake pointy end out, hoping against hope that it might pierce his heart when he grabs her. It gets his shoulder instead, but it ensures at least some temporary distance between predator and prey. Now he's leaning heavily against the stake, about to truly seize her now, but his weight causes her to fall backward.

And into a hole.

The vampire is far too big to join her in this abyss, so she falls through alone, down and down and down and down.

_And down and down and down and down._

Barney hears the Watch's message: Lily Aldrin was attacked by a vampire. And then she fell down a Hole. They're trying to get her back, but no one can help her out of a Hole, as is commonly known, only herself. The vampire has been captured and submitted for questioning.

Fat load of help that'll do, Barney thinks to himself. The Hole was a twist of fate, nothing to do with the vampire. They aren't exactly big on planning.

Then he hears something else.

"And the vampire? Who is he?"

"Jerome Whitaker, sir."

And now he knows that the vampire isn't a coincidence. And it will escape.

And then Barney Stinson will die.

Simple, neat, full circle. An exemplary wish. Robin interrupts his train of thought. "I thought you said your father died." Now he turns to stare at her, startled. "Yeah, I know his name," Robin says. "Jerome Whitaker. You told me he died. And now the Watch guy is saying he's a vampire." She hesitates. "Which, I guess, supports your story that he died. Half-truths and all."

There's something about their exchanges that are so raw, so callous. Always cutting to the truth, and yet, always dancing around it. Matter-of-fact, when it should have been unfamiliar and careful. When they speak, it's like they've known each other their whole lives, and to put up a pretence is laughable.

"How do you know his name?"

There's another staring match. These seem to be becoming more and more prevalent.

But the answer comes up behind Barney, and Robin looks up at it. Hopeful. Desperate. "Father?"

"How astute of you," Robin Sr. remarks dryly, surveying his 'son' with cold blue eyes. "Time to go."

And in that instant, Robin and Barney know that nothing has changed. Robin stares back up at her father, and Barney stares at Robin. Impossible. A wish always follows through. And an immediate wish like Robin's should have been fulfilled… well, immediately. When the clock struck twelve and all that.

Robin's silence causes her father to turn to Barney. "And you are Barney Stinson."

"Yes."

"The bastard son."

"Yes," Barney says unflinchingly.

"Good to meet you," Robin Sr. says unexpectedly, but he's always been like that.

"Isn't it always."

"I knew your father."

"Really."

"He's in the other room."

"Not anymore."

There's a confused pause.

The aged man waits for an explanation, but Barney's attention is focused on Robin. After a few moments, he reluctantly turns away from her. "He's not in the other room because he's escaped, you see."

Odd ramblings from an odd man. Robin Sr. is impatient. "Then where is he?" He has never liked being kept in the dark.

"Here," Barney says impassively, and his dead father comes up behind him at superhuman speed.

_And in the heavens, two fairies stare down at the scene. One savours the destruction of the failed wish, and the other ponders the loss of her shoe. And then, much to their surprise, they come crashing down to earth._


End file.
